Royal Mistress

by Anne Easter Smith

  “What say you, Jane? Are you asleep?”

  “I will gladly come with you, your grace, but only if you can assure me of your mother’s absence, and if you promise to take me hawking. Who else will go with us?”

  Edward released his arm and pulled her close. “I agree to both conditions. As for my retinue, I shall bring friends, Jane, have no fear. Will, certes, although you may have to put up with his stiff-lipped wife. Norrys, Howard and his wife, who is already known to you, and a few others. I suppose I shall have to invite my stepson, although he has been most unpleasant of late.” His tone hardened. “Not sure what has flown up his arse, but if he does not behave, I shall send him up to Fotheringhay and Mother can deal with him. Ouch, do have a care, sweet Jane, those hairs are firmly planted in my chest, I assure you.”

  Jane released her grip, and she was silent.

  Edward took her silence for concern. “Is that too many people for your comfort? We cannot be alone, you must understand. And with Katherine Hastings and Elizabeth Howard assuring propriety, we can make merry together before I have to begin the sad ceremony of reburial.”

  Jane bit her lip. She did not dare request that Tom be excluded. She had been so careful so far not to give Edward any indication that even as her body belonged to the king, her heart belonged to Tom. “If you are content, then I must be, too, my lord. What of your brothers? Do they not accompany you?”

  Edward raised an eyebrow. “ ’Tis odd you should mention George and Richard. I was only speaking of them to Will before I came to you. Do you know what offense they cause me with their constant bickering?”

  Jane nodded. “I heard my father tell of the arguments they laid before you in the matter of their wives’ inheritance. But ’twas two years ago. I am afraid I cared not who Clarence and Gloucester were at the time, but I marveled that two royal brothers needed the king to judge their case. What caused the argument, pray?” Jane asked without thinking. Surely Edward would not discuss family matters with her. She was merely curious, and her mouth had moved faster than her brain.

  Edward did not appear offended by her curiosity, however. “Before I tell you the tale, you must know that George betrayed me not once but twice while I lost and won my crown again. He was flattered by our cousin, the earl of Warwick, who had turned against me, and Warwick promised George the crown for his treasonous support.” He paused while Jane digested the disturbing facts. “I forgave him, and he came back into the fold before Barnet. Will, Elizabeth, and the council wanted to charge him with treason, but he is my brother, and I could not do it.”

  Jane was moved by the king’s sincerity and the depth of his love for this wayward brother. His loyalty to family was far greater than hers, she mused, thinking how willingly she had turned her back on her home, and not for the first time she wondered what Bella might say if she could see her now. She gently brought the subject back to the dispute between the younger brothers, and Edward continued.

  “I have given them land and wealth enough to satisfy a dozen dukes, and yet still they argue over their Neville wives’ inheritance. You know they married Warwick’s daughters, do you not? Certes, you do. Perhaps you do not know the extent of the quarrel? Not two years later after George married Isabel Neville, Richard begged to marry the Lady Anne. I refused at first, thinking it was not prudent for two royal brothers to marry these powerful wealthy sisters—and second cousins, no less. However, when I heard how George had tried to hide Anne away so Richard could not have her, I relented. But now I rue the day I listened to my heart and not my head.”

  Jane was intrigued by the story. “George really hid her away? Where? And how did they find her?”

  “That boy Richard is as determined as a dog to have a bitch in heat,” Edward declared. Jane winced; she often did not much care for Edward’s choice of words. “He went to see Anne at the Erber—the Neville—”

  “. . . the Neville city residence. Aye, I know, my lord, I am a Londoner,” she interrupted.

  “How could I forget,” he said, slapping her bare buttock playfully, “but do not interrupt your king again, wench, or I will have to resort to punishment. Like tying you up and . . .”

  Jane promptly put her hand over his mouth. “I can imagine the rest, your grace. Now I pray you, tell me more about the mystery of Lady Anne’s whereabouts.”

  Edward related how Richard of Gloucester, desperate to find his prospective bride when news of Anne’s disappearance came to light, had employed some spies to search the neighborhood near the Erber. As Clarence’s wife’s younger sister and a widow, she had been placed under his guardianship, and he had no intention of allowing his brother access to her. “One day, getting word she may have been found, Richard went himself to rescue her, and there the poor little thing was, great Warwick’s daughter, plucking chickens in the kitchen of a tavern. Can you imagine the humiliation for someone of her noble Neville blood?”

  Jane privately thought that everyone ought to know how to pluck a chicken. She bit back her retort and tut-tutted sympathetically instead. She did not want to keep reminding Edward of her common stock. She was enjoying her new life, not to mention that the more she was with Edward the fonder she became of him.

  “Richard of Gloucester must love his wife very much,” she said quietly. “He went to extraordinary lengths to win her. She is a lucky woman.”

  Edward’s eyes were closing. It had been a long day, and he never slept more easily than after he had been pleasured. “Aye, I believe Dickon loves her. But I warrant he will never love anyone as much as he did his Kate.” He yawned. Then his eyes flew open. “By Christ’s nails! That is who you remind me of, Jane. Kate Haute, Dickon’s first love.” That amber-eyed beauty with a voice like an angel. Edward would have taken her to bed the first time he had seen her but for the respect he had for his loyal youngest brother.

  Jane was curious now: this was the second time she had been compared to Richard of Gloucester’s paramour. How can I meet this woman? she wondered, sleepily. Deciding she would find out more about Kate Haute soon, she snuggled down into Edward’s embrace, delighting in the sensation of skin against skin as they lay together. Before slipping into sleep, she sent a prayer to St. Elizabeth to watch over them that night.

  Strangely, she dreamed about Will Hastings. It was a disturbing dream of running through dark rooms searching for her friend, and then in the gloom she saw the little towheaded boy from the Old Bailey kicking a football that was covered in blood. When she looked closer, she saw it was not a ball but a head.

  Edward felt Jane’s distress and held her close. “ ’Tis naught but a bad dream, sweet Jane. Never fear, I shall always be here,” he murmured in her ear, and she calmed. He was surprised by the strength of his conviction that he was speaking the truth. He would always be there for her; he knew that now. Despite his devotion to his wife, it was this diminutive, carefree, and generous girl who had reawakened his jaded heart.

  The bodies of Richard, duke of York, and his son Edmund, earl of Rutland, were transported from Pontefract to Fotheringhay in an elaborate catafalque pulled by seven horses followed by a mile-long train of mourners, the chief of these being Richard, duke of Gloucester. Behind him, also dressed all in black, rode earls, barons, knights, heralds, and squires, and as far as the eye could see marched four hundred yeomen, wearing black hoods and carrying torches. Ahead of the procession, a team of bishops had been sent to prepare the sanctuary at each night’s resting place. On the seventh day, the dead duke and his son, both killed at Wakefield’s battle on the last day of 1460, were greeted by the king, his queen, and his mother at the church of St. Mary at Fotheringhay, where the bodies were laid to rest on the thirtieth day of July under the newly renovated nave.

  On the day following the burial, Edward had seated more than fifteen hundred people at a feast, which began at noon and lasted well into the long summer evening. Close to five thousand more were accommodated in canvas pavilions in the fields and received alms from the king, but no o
ne was counting. Edward’s new prosperity was on show, and all prayed England was now well set upon a peaceful course.

  “Well, my lady Mother, are you contented now?” Edward asked Duchess Cecily as they mingled with the guests. The king looked magnificent in purple with a baldric of gold thread affixed diagonally across his chest, holding jeweled brooches, fermails, and medals. A jeweled crown topped his gold-red hair. “I regret it took so long, but have I done right by my noble father and my brother?”

  “My dear Edward, you do not need to seek my approbation,” Cecily replied. “You are the king and I am but your subject, and a haggish, tottering one at that.”

  Edward’s burst of laughter caused those nearest to him to wonder what Proud Cis had said to amuse her giant of a son. Despite her sixty-one years, the duchess of York had kept her fabled beauty, and only the few lines around her eyes and on her forehead hinted at the age of her still-lucent skin. But it was her eyes, the gentian blue of her native Durham wildflower, that never failed to arrest an onlooker’s attention. Also in purple and trimmed in ermine, with her widow’s wimple and barbette a spotless white and her ducal crown glimmering gold, the tall, slender woman might have been a queen.

  “You are still the most beautiful woman at court—when you are at court, Mother. Do not play humble with me, I beg of you. It does not become you. Now, answer me, please. Will Father and Edmund finally rest in peace? Will you rest in peace? I did this for you, you know,” he fawned, looking for a moment like the boy Cecily remembered when the Yorks were a complete family.

  She reached up to pat his cheek. “Aye, my son, I thank you. They are at peace now, and it will not be long before I shall be as well.” She smiled sweetly at him, but her voice then took on an edge. “However, there is another matter I wish to discuss with you, Edward. Shall we walk along the Nene apace?”

  Edward’s face fell. He knew that look, that tone of voice. He was about to be chastised, and there was nothing he could do about it. “Aye, my lady,” he agreed, remembering the last time the duchess had asked to walk with him apace had been two years before when she had demanded an explanation as to why he could not effect a reconciliation between his two brothers. He checked about him for Will, hoping his friend would come to his rescue, but his chamberlain was nowhere in sight.

  “I hope you said a few aves for your own soul these past two days, my boy,” Cecily began as they left the castle by the postern gate, the massive keep high upon the motte at their backs. Fotheringhay had been Cecily’s favorite residence during her marriage to Richard of York; it was the principal seat of the York family, built by an ancestor, Edmund of Langley, with a moat fed from the River Nene. “It has come to my attention that your eye has wandered from your wife again. Nay, do not dissemble, Edward,” she grumbled as Edward’s silence and sulky mouth revealed the truth. “Your father and I were married for more than thirty years and he did not stray from my bed.” She turned the large ruby betrothal ring on her finger, a habit she had acquired every time she thought of her beloved departed husband. “I sometimes ask myself what we did wrong in your upbringing.” She shook her head. “At least Richard was decent enough to rid himself of his leman before he wed his Anne.” She paused, remembering something. “He tells me his bastard will join his household on the morrow. While I commend his paternal responsibility, I do not approve. Did you hear of this?”

  Relieved to revert from his own indiscretion to Richard’s, Edward dived right in. “His son is coming to Fotheringhay? How old must he be? John is his name, I believe. Certes, I have seen Dickon’s girl here from Wingfield with my sister Suffolk. Katherine is quite a beauty, you must agree, your grace. She is the image of her mother.” Christ’s bones, why had he brought up Kate Haute? It would only return the subject to Jane.

  He was right.

  “And what is the name of your latest wagtail?” Cecily snapped. “I cannot believe Jacquetta’s daughter would take this lying down . . .” Cecily grimaced at her choice of words as Edward smirked, and she immediately corrected herself. “. . . suffer this behavior from you. You should put the woman from you and concentrate on the business of governing. I suppose you know the country is filled with outlaws? Why, one of my ladies was set upon just last month as she was escorted home to Lincoln. You must govern more sternly, Edward. Your father would have done so.”

  Edward scowled. Not that comparison again, he thought. He wanted to shout, “Aye, but my father may have begun the fight but he did not win the crown! I did. He was not perfect either, and at least I have brought peace to the kingdom and prosperity,” but he said nothing and allowed her to finish. He had far too much respect for this indomitable woman to gainsay her.

  Knowing she had reached her limit with him, she relented. “You are the king, and I am your loyal subject,” she reiterated. “I am merely asking, as your mother, to curb your wanton ways. There, I have said my piece, now kiss me and let us return to the feast.”

  “Aye, Mother,” Edward said meekly enough, and bent to kiss her proffered cheek. Who was he to defy Proud Cis?

  EIGHT

  ENGLAND, 1477

  In the months that followed the reburial, Edward worked hard to live up to his mother’s expectations of him. But despite holding sessions of oyer and terminer in several counties, calling a great council to request that overtures be made to Castile for a marriage between his six-year-old heir and the Infanta Isabella, and entering into negotiations with the duke of Brittany to gain custody of the exiled Henry Tudor, earl of Richmond, Edward’s popularity sagged, most especially with the London wool merchants. He was unable to reverse the recent Burgundian edict against the importing of English cloth, and thus the breakdown of trade with the wealthiest market in Europe was now hurting the economy.

  Edward’s sister Margaret was duchess of Burgundy, but she did not appear able to persuade her husband to revoke the edict, probably owing to Duke Charles’s fanatical ambition to harness as much of Europe as he could. Thus he was rarely at home, preferring to leave Margaret to rule in his place. However, the duchess was powerless to change laws, and her husband was as stubborn as he was rash.

  Not unexpectedly, yet still a shock to the rulers of Europe, Charles the Bold was killed at the siege of Nancy one frozen day in early January, leaving his heir, young and vulnerable Mary of Burgundy, in the care of her stepmother, the childless Duchess Margaret. The wool merchants would now have to wait until Mary found a husband and the new duke could be approached about the edict.

  In another foreign policy failure and despite an agreement, Edward was unable to wrest his possible rival, Henry Tudor, from the duke of Brittany, and the young earl had gone into the church sanctuary, where no one could touch him.

  In the matter of his mistress, however, Edward had no intention of giving her up. His mother’s ire be damned, he thought as he signed the letters of protection to accompany the new merchant adventurer, William Shore, into Burgundy that yuletide. It was more important to Edward that Jane was finally free of Shore, who would not be seen in London for many years to come.

  Edward was astonished at the strength of his feeling for the dainty, strong-willed woman from the merchant class. He loved her naturalness, her ignorance of courtly pretense, her wit, warmth, and her beautiful body. But he had to admit it was Jane’s generosity of spirit that touched him most deeply, a rare quality in her position.

  “Mercer Etwelle, I pray you be at ease and take a seat.” Jane recognized her father’s former apprentice and waved him toward a carved wooden chair across the room from her. “What brings you to Thames Street on this wintery morning?”

  The lanky, hawk-nosed Etwelle lowered himself onto the chair, his knobby knees safely hidden by his blue gown, the color of the mercer’s livery that year. He was clearly nervous, pulling at his thin beard every few seconds and clearing his throat. Jane waited for him to gather his thoughts and played with a small, but beautiful, square-cut emerald ring, Edward’s gift to her upon their six-months’ anniversa
ry.

  “Mistress Shore, I do not know where to begin,” her visitor faltered.

  “At the beginning would be a good place, sir,” Jane said, smiling encouragement at him.

  “I have been accused of a crime,” he blurted out, “and I am innocent.” Jane’s smile faded as she wondered what this mild-mannered man could have done. Loading dice, forging documents, and public drunkenness were common, she knew, but none would have led him to her door.

  She rose and poured the poor man a cup of ale, which he took gratefully. “As I said before, Master Etwelle, start at the beginning.”

  A tale of miscalculation of several bolts of velvet purchased by the king’s tailor had resulted in John Etwelle’s being accused of cheating the king of a few nobles, and he was due in court within a sennight.

  “ ’Twas a misunderstanding, mistress,” the mercer explained, sitting forward in his seat. “The man’s script was unclear, and I thought he had written six instead of four bolts of cloth.”

  His sincerity touched Jane, and she believed him. “Forgive me, sir, but why are you telling me this? I know you to be an honest man; at least you were when you were apprenticed to my father. If you are wanting my advice”—but Jane could not imagine why he would—“I would say to you to tell the truth. ’Twas a simple mistake. My father will vouch for you.”

  Etwelle flushed. “Aye, he has already done so, mistress, but to no avail. They say I could be imprisoned, and I have a family of four to feed.” Now the tugging at the beard was accompanied by an uncontrollable knee-bobbing.

  “That is dreadful news,” Jane cried. “ ’Tis too harsh a sentence if you are telling the truth. I wish I could help, but I have no influence.”

  “ ’Tis said in the Chepe that you have the king’s ear,” Etwelle whispered as though there were spies in Jane’s house. “You could speak for me, if you so choose. And I will repay you with money or as much cloth as you could want, Mistress Jane.”